Waxing Moon
by greyrondo
Summary: In the far future, there are fairy tales and ruins that only suggest Gaia's past. But a hero's soul never truly dies...


How to describe this? A sequel of sorts that takes place about seven hundred years after the end of Final Fantasy IX. The soul of a hero never truly dies, and the same can be said of the souls of others…

Disclaimer: Square owns FFIX and everything associated with it, even Kuja (sadly…). At least the original characters and their situations belong to me.

It was the year of Queen Bherant til Alexandros' ascension to the throne when the moon returned to the sky. That in itself was no matter of anything to give a moment's thought over; this happened every so often in the past—we had learned it in history, and much else besides—for twenty or thirty years, before its blue sickle disappeared for another period of time, sometimes fifteen years, sometimes many more.

We had been taught that it used to be there always, it had been there for much longer, and tended to not disappear. The moon glowed brighter back then, the royal records tell, but just before it began its first great disappearance, some very strange things happened indeed.

Like the fact that there used to be these beings called Genomes with primal tails and high cheekbones, just as there were—and still are—the Cleyran Rats and the Summoner peoples with horns centered on their foreheads. But the physical traits of the Genomes died out some five hundred years ago, according to my biology classes. I said those times were strange.

But in the fog-soaked streets of the capital city of Burmecia, where I had lived, such happenings were only a curiosity, and not even a very enticing one at that, not for the teenager that I most certainly was. Not when there were other, more important, happenings.

My name was… I can't recall. I had cropped blond hair, and tanned skin in spite of the perpetually clouded skies. That I do remember. Was I pretty? I don't know. I know for sure I was not beautiful, not in the way that would have helped me. Because those particular happenings went by the name of Lexander Gold. A simple adolescent crush, as it was called—that is, one-sided and with flash-thunderstorm turmoil of loving and hatred.

He was dark-featured, with hair the same hue as the darkest, finest of royal Alexandrian chocolate. There as the hint of fire in his eyes that the Summoners had, but if there was Summoner's blood in him, there was only that most mysterious trace. He was not strong, not rough like the other boys, but I could always depend on him to be there to listen to me. And perhaps that was it— he had an indiscriminating charisma that attracted everyone. Everyone loved him; everyone wanted to be near him in his genuine friendship. I was simply another one of those, nothing more. He was handsome, and there was nothing I could do to distinguish myself.

"I hate him," my friend Sarah would say, twitching her rat's tail in irritation. It's strange I remember her more than myself. I wonder sometimes what happened to her.

"Look what he's doing to you. He thinks he's so smooth, like he can go up to any girl and grab them around the waist like he's their… he's a player, and no one sees it! Get over him and find someone else!"

Love and hatred. To him I suppose he saw himself as my brother of sorts; it wasn't his fault that my mind wandered to shadowy places when he greeted me by a touch on the arm and I knew that, of course, it was him.

Even when he seemed to choose me over anyone else, ask me to go to lunch or whatnot with a group of people that I was so sure he would rather be with, I always had some other commitment. I equated the crestfallen expression in his face to one he would give anyone else, everyone else.

It was that warm touch, that comforting smile, which nearly convinced me to go with him to Burmecia's old quarter— or whatever he had claimed. There in the old quarter were the ruins. I did not want to go; I had schoolwork to finish, my parents wanted me home, I had to… I had to think of an excuse that was more convincing than the want that my eyes betrayed.

He knew I loved the ruins. Especially those of the old palace, but I had never been inside. Why? I had never had the courage. There were ghosts there, I was sure. I always felt strange whenever I stood on the threshold of those ancient dilapidations.

I left him there, with three other girls I felt sure he would enjoy the company of more than my own. I had no need to worry—he would be perfectly fine with them.

I hated him.

For an immeasurable length of time, he said nothing to me. Rather, I said nothing to him. I avoided him. I had not been sleeping well—how could I, with those curious dreams of another world?

It was a world clothed in cold blue, and made me shiver in my dreams to even visit by sleep. The landscape was spun from crystal, it seemed, and fragile as the starlight.

Every night, I would see a little more and more of this strange world.

A man aged beyond possibility, and a room lined with lifeless steel. Even those strange Genomes, whom we had learned about in biology, appeared in my dreams. Golden-haired and vacant-eyed, they seemed nothing but empty shells. Except for one.

He was smaller, appearing in my vision like a flickering sunburst of energy before vanishing again.

I would find myself attracted to sleep more and more, wanting more of this fantastic but ominous world my dreams were weaving than the terrible emptiness my reality conjured. Save what was a hesitant greeting, I had severed contact from Lexander. It was easier to not be his friend at all, to be separate from the horde of those drawn to him; it was easier than being near him but not near enough. I wanted to be the only one, chosen. Special, the one he wanted. But I wasn't. His very existence offended my senses.

Sarah's concern grew and grew, but I cannot recall exactly what occurred. Then one day he did not look up when I passed—that night, I had a nightmare.

I could not quite tell what had been so frightening, but it left me awake and shaking, bathed in cold sweat. I saw the little golden-haired Genome boy, standing by the old man's side. Even in that fragile, beautiful world, I was separate and alone.

In my dreams, I felt the same hatred for him that I did for Lexander in waking. Envy that in waking he was something I could not have; envy in sleep that he had something I could not.

"Come with me," Lexander said to me quietly. I wondered if voices could become rough and rusty if not used on particular people, because his was nearly hoarse. I was alone. But more importantly, he was alone. It was misty night, the rain falling even as the clouds flitted in front of the starry night sky.

_ Why should I,_ rested barbed on my tongue. I almost could not hold it. But my silence was enough to prompt him to continue.

He had taken my hands in his. Letting them linger, I felt as if my body was betraying me. "You never saw the ruins with me."

"You went with those girls, didn't you?"

He shrugged. "I didn't want to go without you. I made up some excuse about having to go take care of my brother, and went home. You need to see them at night—they're so amazing, it's as if you've stepped into another world entirely."

I thought of the crystalline perfection of the world of my sleep.

_ Go with the boy_, a voice suddenly said in my head, as softly as if it were whispered in my ear. It echoed from my heart, as if it were my own, but there was something else in those words. Deeper, accented with a tempting tone of darkness.

That voice was not mine.

"You'll love it, I promise."

When I walked with him, I felt as if there were someone besides myself taking my steps.

The ruins were beautiful. My heels clicked on the carved surface of the floor, rain caressing my skin and hair. I was alone with Lexander. I loved the rain. In its droplet chimes were the abstract echoes of victory. These musings in my head grew stranger by the moment, but so did the strength with which Lexander held my hand.

We had not said a word to each other, the silence speaking for us. But as we stepped into the atrium of the old palace, I gasped to myself and pulled my hand away from his. I found myself standing in the center without so much as a memory of crossing those interweaving tiles.

_ You hate him, don't you?_

"This place is so old," Lexander remarked. "Makes you feel different than everywhere else in this city."

_ I don't hate him. I simply assumed he would never love me. But here he is, now, and we're alone. This proves something, doesn't it? _

Answering Lexander's remark, I nodded. A delicate surge of adrenaline pulsed through my veins. I even smiled, a little, and he came up to my side.

_ Why don't you be honest with yourself? He's a boy, and a very forward boy at that. If he truly wanted you, he would have at least tried to hold you, kiss you, anything at all. You're nothing special, nothing but a friend to him. In essence, your relationship, as you see it, is nothing but an amusement to him._

_ It's not an amusement…_

_ You sound so sure, my dear. Do you know who I am?_

"You know, there's a myth that says that every time the moon returns to the sky, the souls of the ancient heroes of legend will awaken once again on this world. Interesting, isn't it?"

I knew of the ancient heroes of myth—Zidane, the Queen Garnet til Alexandros, and the others— and of that legend. Everyone did. They were told in fairy stories, before we could even read. There was another part of the story, a part left out for the sake of the young children. But my mother and father stopped telling the stories early, so I had never learned quite what that was.

_ I can give you everything you want. Everything you truly want, my dear one. And deep in your heart, you want to see him pay for what suffering he was inflicted upon you. You want him to feel the way you felt every time you saw his smile touch another girl. He does not love you. _

_ I… I don't believe you…_

_ Yes, you do. You know you cannot trust him to not abandon you after this night of pretended intimacy. He needs you for some reason, else he would not reach out to you. You know it to be true._

_ I…_

And then Lexander was hushed, his eyes gazing at the stars. "Did you see that?"

"What?" I wanted to know. But I had seen it. A flash in the sky, a sickle of blue.

_ It is all so rehearsed, everything he does. Perfectly meant to break down the barrier that you saved yourself with. He would not pause at hurting you again. He enjoys being the something you cannot have._

There was no one behind me, but I felt the sensation of a suffocating embrace on my skin, breath on my throat, the hush of a silky curl on my shoulders. Something inside me told me to shake this off, but these words I heard…

_ Do you enjoy defining yourself in terms of how much he rejects or acknowledges you? Do you relish evaluating yourself by his eyes?_

Lexander articulated my name. "Is something wrong?"

I had frozen at the butterfly touch of a ghost's lips on the pulse of my skin. I shook my head quickly. Lexander's gaze returned to the sky.

_ Hate him. Remember the injustice he has inflicted upon you. Never forgive him, not when you can have revenge. _

"It's the moon," Lexander breathed. He looked so handsome, then.

_ I do hate him._

"Terra," I said. "Its name."

His eyes widened in surprise. "The moon's always just been the moon—where did you hear something like that?"

I laughed, inexplicably. Words fell onto my tongue suddenly, and I had the sudden impulse to speak them aloud.

"Peace is but a shadow of death, destined to forget its painful past," I found myself speaking. With every word my mouth spoke, my body took a step away from Lexander. Then my body turned around. The rain was beautiful, yes, but it chilled me as well. My arms folded around my chest, in a suggestive and tempting way I would have never thought my body could coordinate.

"Destined to forget its painful past..." I repeated. "And while the moon still shines blue, by dawn it will turn to scarlet hue."

I threw back my head and laughed, a pure cackle of delight that rose from nowhere, that resounded in the wet rain and stone. It enveloped me in the atrium, until I scarcely remembered there was another soul there.

When I decided to lay eyes on that boy again, he stared at me as if the rain had frozen him.

"I thought you were Garnet."

He skittered away, putting distance between us.

"I thought you were Garnet," I heard him exclaim again in sheer disbelief.

My eyes went wide, and I flinched as the rain struck my skin. But it was too late; as the blue sheen of moonlight fell upon us, I no longer saw out of my own eyes. I was cast out of my own body and removed to the shadows. I watched my body as it transformed into a pale being, shining as opalescent as that unearthly glow from the heavens.

_ Words fail to express the thanks I owe you. I cannot count the times I have been reincarnated, only to have my host unwilling. Do not fear—I will remember you always as the doll who granted me this eternal body. What was… your name again?_

And then I saw Lexander, shrinking away.

_ Isn't it simply perfect that he cares too much for you—you, whoever you once were. He assumed just because he loved you that you would be the rebirth of the Princess—Queen, pardon me—Garnet. Yes, he did love you, as much as a boy can. Humorous, how different the truth is, from what I could convince you to believe..._

_ He can't even call out his own true appearance. Pity, it would have made this more entertaining. I suppose it is for the best, though. The newer generation of Genomes were so unattractive. All that blond hair… so ordinary. So plain. I, at least, was beautiful. I am beautiful, don't you agree?_

"My heartfelt greetings, Zidane," the mouth that had been mine said in a deep voice that matched the beautiful and cruel figure I had become.


End file.
